


The Tale of Corin & Neriah

by gremlinquisitor (suchanadorer)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Second Blight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22186231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/gremlinquisitor
Summary: Starkhaven is in flames around them, and everywhere is the clamor of battle. They arrived to find the city already under siege, though their company of Wardens rode hard to stay ahead of the bulk of the horde called together over the Free Marches by Zazikel’s horrible shrieks. The city rose before them, already mounting what attack it could. Arrows flickered with fire too bright to be starlight as they arced up away from the city walls, raining down behind the Wardens to slow the tide of Darkspawn. Griffons wheeled overhead out of range of the arrows, cawing and chattering, their riders’ commands inaudible in the din. Those residents who could flee took to the hills above the city, burning the bridge behind them and hoping that the Minanter would protect them. Those who could not leave fought, and are fighting still, now reinforced with Grey Wardens at their sides. The war cries of the Wardens are answered by the screams of Darkspawn, battle horns and the rattle of swords and the constant, awful clattering that seems to come from the horde itself.A telling of the end of the Second Blight.
Relationships: Corin/Neriah (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	The Tale of Corin & Neriah

**Author's Note:**

> Written for In Peace, Vigilance: A Grey Warden Zine

Zazikel screams, scaled head thrown back and great leathery wings churning the air around the pair of approaching Grey Wardens. The sound pierces flesh and bone like an arrow, stealing breath and leaving an ache in Neriah’s heart and mind. Grit flies up into their eyes, and Neriah brings her arm up to shield her face, the ruined cuff of her robe black with dirt and soot from the day’s battle. A step ahead of her, she sees Corin raise his shield to protect them both as fire rains down onto the street. His armor is scorched as well, both blue and grey turned to black, singed at the edges but still useful. There is ash on his face when he turns to look at her, dark eyes finding hers even in the low orange glow that surrounds them. His grin is a quick flash in the dark, and she nods as she tries to return it but her eyes move up to take in the Archdemon and her smile falls.

Starkhaven is in flames around them, and everywhere is the clamor of battle. They arrived to find the city already under siege, though their company of Wardens rode hard to stay ahead of the bulk of the horde called together over the Free Marches by Zazikel’s horrible shrieks. The city rose before them, already mounting what attack it could. Arrows flickered with fire too bright to be starlight as they arced up away from the city walls, raining down behind the Wardens to slow the tide of Darkspawn. Griffons wheeled overhead out of range of the arrows, cawing and chattering, their riders’ commands inaudible in the din. Those residents who could flee took to the hills above the city, burning the bridge behind them and hoping that the Minanter would protect them. Those who could not leave fought, and are fighting still, now reinforced with Grey Wardens at their sides. The war cries of the Wardens are answered by the screams of Darkspawn, battle horns and the rattle of swords and the constant, awful clattering that seems to come from the horde itself. 

They are exhausted, Neriah and Corin both. She sees it in his eyes, but doesn’t need to look at him to know that they are both running on only a few stolen hours of sleep and what little food they could eat from horseback. The bodies of their fellow Wardens are strewn around them, sundered and burned, tossed against the walls of buildings or splayed out on the smooth stones of the city’s streets. Before her, Corin’s sword arm hangs at an awkward angle, blood already drying on the gash on his shoulder, and his helm had gone missing soon after they’d arrived in the city. The ground shakes beneath them when the Archdemon turns and they duck to avoid the wide sweep of its tail, watching as a wooden warehouse explodes into splinters at the impact, Zazikel’s attention momentarily stolen by another group of soldiers nearby.

The Archdemon calls to the horde again and this time Neriah’s vision fills with white. 

_ “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you.” _

_ These were the last words she heard before drinking. The chalice was heavy in her hand, a huge ceremonial thing meant for all of them to share. Neriah tasted blood before, but only ever her own in her mouth after a fight, and never this cold and gritty. It threatened to come up again as soon as she swallowed, but the nausea was soon replaced by sharp pain and a roar in her head. Every breath was a struggle as something dark and strong took hold of her heart and lungs, and her vision brightened as if staring until the sun until all was white. She had no memory of fainting, only of waking on a musty rug exactly where she’d fallen. _

An arm wraps around her waist and her sight comes back with a jolt. Corin is beside her, pulling her out of the middle of the square towards the shelter of an alleyway. Her head fills with the smell of blood and burning; even pressed against him she still has to breathe deep to find any trace of his sweet tobacco scent. 

“Stay with me, Neriah,” he mutters as they move, his eyes ever on the Archdemon above them. “I will protect you, but I need to you stay with me now.”

She nods, swallowing thickly and pushing at him a little, forcing herself to stand. Fear claws at her arms and throat and threatens to take over her body, but she will not allow it. Corin is brave and capable but they are both Grey Wardens and their responsibility is to all people of Thedas, not merely to each other. They came here to kill the Archdemon and they will not leave this city with their goal unfulfilled. Here is where they make their stand, or else all die trying. 

They have followed Zazikel from the moors, riding their mounts to exhaustion to keep up as he’d soared above them, screams piercing the sky. They and a company of Wardens found themselves at the crest of a wave of Darkspawn, marching slavishly towards Starkhaven, spurred on by the call of the Archdemon, and now they are all here, two invasions in the city, one meant to destroy and the other meant to save. 

Zazikel’s wings seem to move in slow motion as it flaps once, twice, preparing to lift its massive body into the night above them. Firelight illuminates the sickly red scales and wicked spines of the beast, creating an outline against the smoky darkness above it, no stars visible through the smoke. 

The air is hot inside her when Neriah draws a deep breath, pulling the power of the Fade forward into her body. She spins, staff held over her head, then slams it into the ground, sending out a wave of energy almost equal to the wind the Archdemon is whipping around them. Flames gutter as if ducking out of the way, only to return when the winds stills again. The force spell does as she commands, wrapping around the Archdemon’s body to crush and pull it towards some unseen abyss, tethering it to the ground even as it screeches and struggles against the grip, claws gouging deep gashes into the stone around it. Neriah trembles, sweat rolling down from her hairline, itching and stinging her eyes as she fights for control. Grey Wardens swarm to hack and slash, other flares of magic striking the thick hide in surreal splashes of color. Above it a single griffon rider circles, magic rending holes in already ruined wings that still respond to Zazikel’s attempts to fly. Her arms fall to her sides the moment the Archdemon stops struggling and she can release the spell. The Archdemon is far from dead but they have harried it enough that it will stay where it is for now to respond to these attacks. Her grip on her staff is all that keeps her upright when she sways in place, remnants of the Fade swirling and stilling inside her.

_ Clang! _

_ The energy of the impact sent shuddering vibrations down Neriah’s arms where her staff was raised to protect her, and she hissed at the metallic screech that came when the new recruit drew his blade across before lifting for another blow. Sweat trickled from her hair down the back of her neck, and the sun caught on the recruit’s sword when he turned it to come at her again. She brought a hand up against the glare, seeing his grin through her fingers. He thought he had her, and that was right where she wanted him. _

_ Neriah crouched low, sweeping her staff out in a wide arc that caught him at the backs of his knees, sending him sprawling into the grass. His breath came out of him with a thud and his sword clattered where it fell off to one side. She rose slowly, trying to bite down on her grin as she walked towards him. _

_ He was laughing even as his breath came back to him, a sound both dark and light at once like the sun dappled on his face and armor, and when she offered her hand to pull him to his feet, he took it with a smile, his skin more calloused and worn than her own. _

_ “Corin,” he offered, his grin pulled up at one side and a glint in his eye that told her he’s not used to being the one to lose. _

_ “Neriah,” she replied, letting her hand linger in his. _

“Neriah!” 

She whips around at the sound of Corin’s voice. He turns back to look at her, then up at Zazikel again. “We must get to cover before it strikes again. Quickly, love, this way!”

Her gaze sweeps the battlefield, looking for anything closer than the alleyway that might offer some protection. The warehouse is a loss, one beam sliding down to collapse the last of the ceiling and send up a shower of sparks where it lands. There are overturned carts and the bodies of horses beside them, the bodies of men, women, Darkspawn. There are so many bodies and so few still standing to fight.

Corin is at her side again, his touch insistent now as he tugs her arm. She looks to him, then past him at the alleyway.

Beside them, Zazikel wheels around. Its ire is aimed at the cluster of Grey Wardens rushing up the shallow steps behind them, but before Corin and Neriah it exposes the softness of its throat and belly. Corin draws a breath beside her and flexes his hand on the grip of his sword, chuckling to see such an opportunity.

Beyond them a Darkspawn Emissary steps out from the narrow alley it meant to use as cover. It is huge and foul, dressed in rags and covered in sores visible even through the smoke and distance. She has felled a dozen of them and would fell a dozen more to stop the Blight and bring peace back to Thedas; this one is no different, yet fear flares up in her as she watches it from across the square. It meets Neriah’s eyes and sneers but as it raises its crossbow the gaze shifts and Neriah’s heart stops. She has been judged and dismissed in favor of a more worthy foe. 

Neriah vowed that she would always protect Corin, not only to him but to herself as well. It is not a question, but that most basic instinct that propels her forward now, in front of Corin, in front of his shield, between him and the Darkspawn.

The Emissary aims with lightning speed and his bolt flies true, headed straight for Corin as he begins his charge towards Zazikel, sword held high. Darkspawn do not understand love, and the Emissary did not think to look for the heart of a mage, full of light and power and all the fury of the Fade.

The bolt hits with force enough to send her reeling back, pain exploding through her arm and shoulder, and she sees the Emissary fall back under the impact of her telekinetic blast.

Her grip on her staff keeps her upright as she recovers, whirling to face the fallen Emissary. She answers the attack with a fireball, concentrated Fade energy that explodes when it hits the Darkspawn, bathing her in heat even from this distance. The smell of burning wood and hot metal fills her head as she draws a labored breath, and when she swallows the taste is thick and coppery on her tongue. 

Neriah falls to her knees hard, her breath forced out of her in a bark as another bolt whizzes past her ear. 

_ “One more hand.” His cheeks were rosy and his eyes bright with drink, and she could tell that she was only a little better off. The wine in their bellies as well as the candles they’d lit within the tent worked to keep the cold night air at bay. It was a different sort of heat that coursed through her, however, when Corin’s eyes met hers across the crate they’d set up as a card table. _

_ “You have no more coin,” she sighed, sweeping her long curls over one shoulder. Her head was heavy, and she let it fall to the side to rest on her hand. A pile of silver and copper glowed in front of her, more than half of it taken from him in the course of the evening’s games. If Neriah didn’t know better, she’d have thought he let her win, but months of evenings spent like this had shown her that he was a sore loser and not one to freely part with money. _

_ Corin drew a deep breath and his eyes moved over her face with such intensity that she could all but feel the drag of it on her skin, as if his coarse hands reached across to touch and search. They’d played for clothes before the weather turned, tumbling together onto a bedroll when neither of them could wait any longer, but there was a different sort of shine in his gaze that night, warmer than the firelight and sweeter than the wine. _

_ “Then I shall bet my heart.” His smile was slow and lazy even as it bordered on arrogant. “If you win, I shall give you my heart.” _

_ She chuckled, shaking her head as she considered his offer. “And if you should win, am I to give you mine?” Her hair fell in front of her face and she made no move to brush it aside, wanting to hide her eyes lest he saw how much she wanted it to be true, wanted him to want her heart for his own.  _

_ “If you wish,” he drawled, and her treacherous heart in her chest surged forward as if trying to go to him without her permission. _

_ Both of them played to lose, and in this way, their hearts were given to each other. _

Light and shadow swim before her, and she hears her name called from a distance, as if she is underwater. Her eyes sting when she blinks, and she lifts her head to see Corin racing across the broken ground towards Zazikel, the Archdemon still too distracted by the taunts and attacks of the larger group to consider the threat from the two Grey Wardens under its neck.

“Run, Corin! Go, now is our chance!”

She cries out to him even as he runs, not looking back at her. Her throat aches, and the shout takes the last of her breath from her, her next inhale wet and metallic. Darkness crowds in on the edges of her vision, hot tears on her cheeks as she fights to hold her head up, to watch him defeat this evil. Pride and love swell within her until she has no room to draw breath, and she coughs, falling forward onto her hands, a pool of something hot and inky hitting the ground before her.

Zazikel turns to face them, arcane fire spilling out across the ground as the Archdemon roars. Corin drops to a knee and plants his shield, curling behind it to protect himself as the flames flow around him, his progress momentarily impeded. Neriah squints as hot air scorches her face and the front of her robes, the smell of burning wood and hair filling what little room is left in her head. 

She blinks slowly and turns her concentration inward, calls upon the Fade for the strength to lift her head and look again. He will do this and she will see it done. The Maker did not put her at his side to have them fail when victory is so close. They and their love are destined for history, she is sure of it, even as it breaks her heart to think that he will mourn her. Her eyes follow him, eager for a last glimpse of his face but willing him to keep going and not look back. If he sees her fallen, he will stop, and nothing must come between him and the Archdemon now.

Corin is running, sword in hand, a broken roof beam used as a ramp to propel him up towards Zazikel. He seems to float, the air beneath him shimmering with heat. Her failing heart soars one last time to see him land a blow on the side of Zazikel’s neck, his sword connecting but finding no real purchase as he falls to land hard on the stones, rolling to come to a stop beneath the belly of the Archdemon. Neriah lowers her hand, the last of her magic expended to guide Corin to the ground, to the weak point he needs to strike to end this nightmare for them all.

Neriah coughs again, her staff clattering beside her as she falls back to her hands and knees. The stones are hot on her skin, and her blood sizzles when she spits it out. Tears cloud her vision and she allows herself a moment a weakness, sobbing as she fights for every breath.

She tries to draw her hand across her chin to wipe the blood away, but her arm refuses to obey, the order stopped by the bolt in her shoulder.

_ He pulled her flush against him under a tree when the rain started, one arm holding his shield above their heads, the other wrapped around her waist as he kissed her. She threw her arms around his neck and pushed up onto her toes to return the kiss. Both of them were sticky with blood, but they’d slaughtered every last Darkspawn in the clearing, and while they had only a moment to themselves, it was a moment of celebration. _

_ “I saw what you did with your shield,” she muttered as she broke the kiss, pulling back to catch his gaze. “It must have been three of them at once you shoved back onto that spear.” _

_ “Speak for yourself,” he replied, smiling down at her with a crooked grin. “You pinned them to the ground, all of them at once. It was like picking fallen fruit. I don’t know how I’d survive without you.” _

_ She shook her head as she looked at him, her eyes moving over his face. The Maker did not bless him with extraordinary beauty, but there was no man that she would rather look on. His heart and soul shone through in his eyes, and it made him beautiful to her, the only face that she would ever love.  _

_ “I don’t know how you would either. I think we should get married and make sure we never have to find out.”  _

_ There was no hesitation in his answer, only a shameless enthusiastic yes as Corin dropped his shield to gather her into his arms, lifting her off her feet to press against him. The rain rattled on his armor and flattened her curls to her head, but for them there was nothing that existed outside of the other as they kissed and laughed and promised to start a life together when the Blight was over.  _

Zazikel shrieks so loud and sharp that the crystal in her staff cracks from the force of it, but it is no matter. She will not be using it again, and she does not need to look to know the reason for the Archdemon’s cry. It is in her mind even though it is clouded, just as it will be in the mind of every Grey Warden: pain unimaginable, darkness and rage that burn away like fog to the first real peace she’s known since Zazikel awoke. The Archdemon is defeated, and the Blight ended. Corin’s sword struck true.

Her eyes struggle to focus as she slumps forward onto the street. The fall pushes the bolt deeper into her shoulder and somewhere nearby, someone groans in her voice. Darkness takes her and she does not fight against it, falling into the welcoming arms of it, held up as if on still waters. 

_ I love you, Corin. I will see you at the Maker’s side. _

When Starkhaven is cleared after the death of the Archdemon, their bodies are found together, Corin blown back by the explosion to fall at her side, one hand seemingly stretched out to reach her. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Please come say hello on [my tumblr](http://gremlinquisitor.tumblr.com) if you're there! :)


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